Unnecessary Cheese
by GreatSardonicismKing
Summary: Eventually, we let loose our unwanted baggage.


His fingertips pressed against each other, his eyes narrowed into slits of what had once been soft, kind brown, now perverted into flashing, penetrating red. The pale wretch of a man, cloaked in blackness that overpowered the features of the thin body and twisted it to match the sharp but evil mind that controlled it, sat without movement, still as marble. The only sign of life was in those dreadful eyes, flashing as they displayed nothing—no emotion, good or bad. Just cold, detached calculation. Finally, his fingers twitched, and his gaze flickered to the unconscious body laying across from him, head fallen helplessly atop the table. Unlike the demon watching him, this man looked troubled, his expression pained. As he watched his enemy stir, the beast's lips upturned to a cruel, sardonic smirk.

It is nearly the end game, he thought. It is nearly time for all of this to be over. Slowly, his hand moved, black coat rustling against his his chilled skin. The nearly skeletal fingers traced the hourglass rested beside him. He stroked the features slowly. He could feel the magic emanating from it, the power trembling at his touch. Such feelings gave the devil a sort of pleasure, if he could feel any at all in his twisted ways.

The figure of darkness stood from his place, treading lightly and silently to the side of the table-top RPG. The shadows followed him, even seemed to huddle close to him, as if taking comfort in taking refuge of one like them. His palms rested upon the table, trailing along it, until he found the scene he desired. He chuckled darkly when he did. There they were, the pathetic worms crawling about in the dirt. The Pharaoh and his little friends. They had joined this game to thwart him, but in truth all they were doing was leading him further towards his goal. The fiend did so enjoy irony.

The self-assured smile soon left his lips, however. He could pat himself on the back later. Frowning, he observed the scene quickly. The Items were in place. Most of them, anyway. Akhenaden was under his control, where he would _remain_, if the Dark One had anything to say about it. It was amusing to him, he realized, how pleasured he was still at watching such an ancient and petty enemy fall to his tricks. But the hate ran deep, the bitterness even deeper. He would never forgive this man. He would never forget. Not this deed, at least.

The sand in the hourglass was trickling down, slipping from the top just as time slipped from his own fingers. There was no more time to reflect. No, it was time to act. And the fact was, he couldn't keep stretching himself out like he was. Keeping the Pharaoh in his slumber as well as keeping all of his pawns under complete control was turning into a more difficult task than he had foreseen, and there were other matters still he had to attend to. No, it was time to let go of something. Something he wouldn't quite need at the moment.

His eyes fell to his greatest pawn: a tall, muscular body garbed in a coat red as blood. His stance was ever the defiant, eyes flashing with the same hatred that smoldered in the red eyes watching him. The difference, however, was in the passion. The King of Thieves had drive that had dwindled in the demon's body over the long years. It was there, as it always would be, but the intense heat of the grudge had turned to a cool abhorrence. He had other things to think about, anyway. Silly little grievances he had once had now took a lower priority, now that he had a vision of power in his sights.

A vision he was quickly losing focus on in his nostalgia.

With a growl, he clenched his fists, glaring at the man below. This man was not him. Not anymore. He had cast off the weakness of his humanity long ago. Perhaps not entirely by choice, but he would not have chosen differently now. No, it was time to end this pathetic memory. It only stretched his power thin, distracted him, confused him.

Reaching his hands out, he concentrated on the magic to bring his energy out of the man. He hadn't allowed his little pawn to run loose canon. Heh, he knew himself all too well to allow that...

He shook his head. There he went again. This was not himself. This was a useless part that had once been him. It was useless now. Dead. Like a dismembered finger. It was stinking, rotting. It had to go.

Again, his hands reached out. This time, he did not falter. In a rush of ecstasy, the energy flowed back through him. The sweetness of it flowed through his fingers, and he let out a laugh, a dark laugh, one that resounded on the little board game, the pawns all looking around, listening to his voice as his presence lingered in the air.

The voice of omnipotence. A chilling smile crossed his lips. He watched the little ants tremble and scurry before his gaze fixed on the Thief King, a dazed and confused expression on his face.

"Don't think I'm through with you yet," he chuckled darkly, wetting his pale lips. "You're still a liability. Besides that, you belong to me. And I need the energy _you_ have."

More magic pressed against the fiend's tongue. He was ready to end this, until once again, he allowed sentiment to attach its claws into him. He paused. His former self was demanding an explanation for his location, looking amusingly terrified.

The dark figure, Yami Bakura, was forced to halt in his actions. His eyes drew along the scene for a brief moment until they once again rested on the Thief King.

Was he killing himself in some great, metaphorical way? His mind seemed to mull over it dully, like some proverbial, abstract thought. Was he murdering himself, permanently? The thoughts flickered lightly through his mind, but remained in that same, apathetic part of his thoughts.

It didn't matter.

His humanity was gone, he knew. Any concept of _Bakura_ was gone. This dark soul belonged to just that, the darkness. Nothing else mattered. Not his past, not his name, not his legacy. The darkness, now, that was what mattered.

Bakura was gone.

He was staring right into the lavender orbs of a corpse.

And it was time to let the corpse return to dust.

With a dramatic wave of his hand, he set the magic to work. He held a passive, bored look on his face, as he watched the animated corpse flail, cling to its life as an undead. He could practically see the claw marks it left on life's wall as it was dragged away.

And then the body became the very sand it was returning to.

Only a familiar crimson cloak told the onlooker a man had ever stood there at all.

The pale devil wordlessly, numbly, moved back to his seat, setting himself down, eyes looking a little wild. Bakura was a distant memory now. Bakura never existed. There was only darkness. There was only the Dark One.

From the distance, he could hear Zorc's whispering calls. His job was not done. Not by a long shot. This was merely taking out the trash. And Zorc's vision... _his _vision, was so very close to his grasp.

Stop caring about the Thief. The Thief was weak. The Thief is no longer a part of you. The Thief is dead.

**Soon,** he felt the whisper against his ear, **The Darkness will be all that matters to you. You... are _mine._**

The white-haired wretch's last thought—before he allowed no more reflection on the matter and turned his attention back to his plan, was a chilling one. Even he banished it quickly from his thoughts, too disturbing to mull over.

But dimly, ever so faintly, he had realized what he had felt when he watched his ancient body fade away.

Envy.


End file.
